


The New Familiar

by seimaisin



Category: Cinders
Genre: F/M, Fairy Tales, Pre-Canon, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-03
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sure, there’s a time for comfort, a place for the familiar. But Perrault hasn’t earned his scars by always sticking to things that comfort him. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Familiar

Ghede returns to town as quietly as she left. One day, Perrault sees the door to her old shop standing open - and the lady in question standing just inside, sweeping the floor. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, leaning on the door frame.

“Ah, Captain.” She smiles, but the expression doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

“I don’t even have a new scar to show for my trouble, thanks to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know men like you collect scars like hunting trophies.” Ghede stops sweeping and looks him up and down. “You’ve already got enough to impress, don’t worry.”

Perrault laughs. “You would know, I suppose.” The time he spent in her cottage, out in the woods - it may not have been for pleasant reasons, but she’s certainly seen more of him than nearly anyone else in town. Much more than he’s seen of her, that’s for sure. Which is a shame, he thinks, watching the way her hips sway as she turns from him and resumes her sweeping. “It’s good to see you again. I wondered where you’d gone.”

“Oh, I’ve been here and there. A woman like me can’t stay too long in one place, if you know what I mean.”

Perrault isn’t sure he does, but the look she gives him when he opens his mouth to asks makes him think better of the question. “What brings you back?” he asks instead.

“A promise.” It’s the only answer Ghede will give, but Perrault understands the need to honor a commitment. Whatever it happens to be. “And what keeps you here, Captain?”

“Excuse me?”

“Not much use for a warrior around here these days, to hear it told. Your king has done a fine job of maintaining the peace. So what is it you do these days, if you’re not called to hunt unsuspecting bandits in the dark forest?” 

She’s teasing, but it hits a little closer to home than Perrault would care to admit aloud. The war has ended. The bandit hideout in the forest has long since been cleared. Even the usual tavern brawlers are starting to grow out of their aggression. What Perrault does now … well, that’s sometimes a good question. “I serve the king, whatever he may need.”

“That’s not an answer.” But Ghede inclines her head and allows him to slip free of the query. Suddenly, she smiles, and this time her whole face gets in on the act. “And personally, Captain? Is there someone you go home to at night?”

“Sadly, no. I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

“Don’t be so sure it’d be a pleasure, my friend. Familiarity breeds contempt, or so they say.” 

“I’ve always found a comfort in familiarity.” 

“I’m sure you have.” Ghede pauses, and her smile softens into something that stirs Perrault’s blood. “Well, there’s not too much familiar about this town these days, except debts owed.” She steps closer to him and brushes something unseen from his sleeve. “I’m not terribly comfortable,” she says quietly.

“I don’t suspect you are, no.”

“But you should come out to my place for dinner tonight anyway.”

Sure, there’s a time for comfort, a place for the familiar. But Perrault hasn’t earned his scars by always sticking to things that comfort him. He smiles. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I think maybe this town needs one or two challenges.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

_And maybe you need a bit of familiar_ , he thinks, as she turns away and grabs her broom. But he’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut and step backwards out of the doorway. 

When he turns to go, he hears the rhythmic brush of bristles against the floor, and her voice humming a low, haunting tune. The melody stays with him through the rest of his patrol; it accompanies him down the road, through the woods, and to the strange little hut - and the woman inside - he’s never quite forgotten.


End file.
